


Wicked Eyes & Wicked Hearts

by nvee



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, OOC+possessive Chrollo because we’re pretending he has any capacity for love outside the spider, PWP, Vaginal Sex, gotta edit this once I’ve apologised to a picture of Kurapika, oral sex (semi-public), some language, some soft!yandere if you squint, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22133446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nvee/pseuds/nvee
Summary: Over the course of your life, you’ve picked up several bad habits you’d be better off without. However, there is one in particular that you just can’t seem to quit–one with wicked eyes and lethal charm.
Relationships: Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 307





	Wicked Eyes & Wicked Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: the culmination of months’ worth of absolute, raw THIRST for this sexy asshole. I hate him!!!! I had to get this out of my system so I can go back to writing for my MLQC boys. 
> 
> the title is a quest from one of my all-time favourite games-DA: Inquisition. I do not own it, nor do I own Chrollo/Hunter x Hunter.

Dark red swirls in the glass with slow twists of your wrist, your chin resting in the palm of your hand as you sit at the bar. 

The marble-top your elbow rests on is just as ornate as everything else in the ballroom, and as pretty as it all is to look at–you’re bored out of your mind. Clad in soft satin, skin exfoliated and highlighted to perfection, your makeup subtle but precise; this is not how you’d pictured your night going. 

A glance over your shoulder confirms your best friend’s continued safety, although you hadn’t actually come here to guard him. He had enticed you with promises of inexhaustible alcohol, food, and plenty of eye-candy. Your hopes of finding a secret corner with a handsome stranger are dwindling, and there is very little fun to be had alone when your partner in crime has the host of the party wrapped around him. 

A Prince tenth in line to the throne–but royalty nonetheless, a man Stefan seems inexplicably smitten with. You’re currently on royal property, and the experience isn’t as exciting as it should be. This is not somewhere you want to get wasted, which helps you keep one of the promises you’ve made to yourself: that you’ll stop getting inebriated to the point of losing common sense. 

It’s the start of a new year, after all. Or it will be, in about two hours. 

Just as you take another sip, there’s a brush of a hand over your shoulder–your pulse quickens as your breath stutters, and you curse yourself for the hope that blooms in your chest even as you turn around. Soft blue eyes lock with yours, and the butterflies in your stomach die a quick death. 

“Hi, I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been on your own for a while...” You blink up at the blond man, who takes it as an indication to continue. “Would it be safe to assume you aren’t waiting for anybody and ask if I could sit here?” he adds, pointing at the empty seat next to you. 

_Are_ you waiting for someone?

_‘No.’_

You smile up at him, gesturing for him to take a seat. “I’m ___.” 

“I’m John.” He waves down the bartender. “I’ll have what the lady’s having.” He waits for the drink to be placed in front of him before turning back to you, swivelling in his chair to face you. “So, ___–this might be a little straightforward, but how is it that a lady as beautiful as you are all alone?”

His words would have been annoying, had they not been said with complete sincerity and a touch of bafflement. He appears to be in his early thirties, garbed in an immaculate white suit, his hair coiffed neatly.

“I did come here with a friend, actually. But he’s a little,” you punctuate your next words with a nod at the couple grinding on the dance floor, completely offbeat to the pop song playing in the background. “Pre-occupied. Can’t hold it against him, though.” 

“They do look rather smitten with each other,” he agrees, his eyes crinkling with amusement. 

“What about you? No hot date for NYE?” The man looks like he could be on the cover of a fashion magazine, and you can already see a few pairs of envious eyes trained on the two you. 

It’s then that he wiggles his hand, a silver band glinting from around his finger. “My date’s out of the country, on business. I work with the Prince, so I figured I might as well skip the moping tonight.” 

Something unwinds in your chest, even though you should be at least a little disappointed. “Crying yourself to sleep wouldn’t be a great start to the year, huh?“ 

“Hey, I don’t do that _every_ day,” he says, mock outrage colouring his tone. “And no, it wouldn’t be–according to my wife.” 

“Well, then, if it’s decent company you’re looking for, I’ll try my best,” you say seriously, your lips curling up when he laughs. “We’ll need to make sure you’re far from tearful when you talk to her.”

“I’d be grateful if you could manage that. Wouldn’t be easy, this is the first time we’re not together in about five years,” he sighs, morose, before at straightening back up. “You didn’t fully answer my question, though.”

“Hm?” 

“You can’t tell me you haven’t seen the boys hovering, hoping for a glance. Have none of them managed to catch your eye?” 

You’re a bit taken aback by the question, as John looks genuinely invested in your answer.

“Um, no. Not really.“ Your heart squeezes pathetically within its cage and you hope it doesn’t show on your face.

“What about the redhead by the window? I’ve met him a few times, he seems like a decent fellow.” You both look over your shoulders simultaneously, studying the man in question. He notices right away, perking up, and you both turn back to the bar.

You squint at him suspiciously. “John, are you trying to play wingman?”

“I’m just a sucker for romance. And you looked lonely,” he shrugs, unfazed by your offended look. “Unless you’re just not interested in that.” 

You pause to take another sip, weighing your words in your head. You wonder what you should say, and if there _is_ even anything to say. John, however, seems to have found something in your expression, nodding swiftly. 

“Ah. I see.” 

“You do?” 

“Yep,” he affirms, studying your face as if he’s discovered a crucial clue. “There _is_ someone.” 

You avert your eyes uncomfortably, suppressing the urge to slump over. “No, there isn’t...not exactly.” 

“Whoever he is, he’s an idiot for not being here with you tonight.” 

“I couldn’t exactly ask him,” you laugh, genuinely amused by the thought. “We’re not like that.” 

John shakes his head, reaching out to pat the back of your hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if it troubles you.” 

“I don’t think there _is_ anything to talk about,” you say nonchalantly, but John doesn’t seem to buy it. He smiles gently, waving down the bartender for refills.

“You know, ___, you have very expressive eyes.” 

You can’t quite bring yourself to say anything to that. 

“And if he can’t see what I, a near stranger, can see in your eyes–then my point stands. He’s an idiot.” 

With that, you seem to have made a new friend. It’s the first time you’ve even hinted at your secret heartache to someone besides Stefan. It’s ridiculous, really, but it’s your reality. One that you can’t seem to escape no matter how hard you try. 

When John asks if you want to dance, you agree, all too eager to escape the jumbled mess of your thoughts. He’s a good partner, if a bit clumsy. His wife is the one who usually leads, he tells you. You’re amused by how often he seems to bring up his wife, but it’s quite endearing. His love for her oozes from his tone, his eyes, his words and you can only wonder if you will ever get to experience this. 

John twirls you around the marbled floor with a lot of enthusiasm, drawing high-pitched giggles from you and exasperated looks from those around you. And so you’re confused when, just as he begins to send you spinning once more, his eyes move to a point over your head, perplexity bleeding into his expression. You only get a glimpse of it before you’re spinning–only for John’s grip on your hand to slip away as you’re spin right into another figure. 

The subtle tones of leather and coffee hit your senses and your heart stumbles at the familiar combination. Your eyes rove over the sleek black suit, the white shirt stretching over lean muscles, the hands resting on your waist, holding you in place. Your eyes fly up before you finish processing all of this, and this time, when clever grey eyes meet yours, your heart flutters hopelessly. 

“Chrollo.” 

“___,” he greets you with a smile that borders on flirtatious, unfairly thick lashes lowering slightly as he takes in your attire. The one habit you haven’t been able to quit, pulling you closer, brushing his lips over the shell of your ear. “You look beautiful.” 

Your face feels warm, yet you try for indifference despite it. You glance back at John, who’s still staring at you with a raised brow, looking a little too interested. “Isn’t this place a little too...low-scale for you?” you say pointedly, looking around to see if any of his friends are here with him. There’s nothing for him to take here, no treasure to steal, as far as you know. Unless...

Alarmed, your eyes fly back to him. He couldn’t be here to kill somebody. 

He looks amused by your words, but when you try to step away his grip only tightens, sending electrifying flutters down your spine. “There’s no need to look so worried. Now,” he begins, looking over your head at John. “Won’t you introduce me to your...friend?” 

It’s the last thing you want to do, but John doesn’t seem to realize that as he steps up to you both with a wide smile. “I’m John.” 

“Chrollo,” he says with a charming grin that only serves to tighten the ball of anxiety and delight in your stomach. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” John says, shaking his hand joyously, before looking back at you. “I guess he’s not an idiot after all, huh?” 

You wish the ground would open up and swallow you, avoiding Chrollo’s eyes when they try to meet yours.

 _‘John, for the love of all that is holy-please shut up,’_ you think hard, staring him at him desperately, hoping he’ll get it. He does seem to understand something, but it’s not what you meant. 

“Well then, I’ll leave ___ in your capable hands, Chrollo,” he chuckles, waggling his brows at you. “Have fun, kiddos.” With that, he leaves you standing in the middle of the crowd with the man you’ve been hoping and dreading to see for months. 

_‘KIDDOS.’_ In any other situation, you would’ve found it hilarious. Said right to his face, you can only hope he’s in a forgiving mood. 

As the music transitions into something gentler, Chrollo pulls you close again. The lights dim as you both sway to the music, and your heart finally settles down. You’re nearly hidden away in the middle of the floor, surrounded by countless dancing partners and friends, but you barely register their presence.

“Your date gave you up faster than I thought he would,” he remarks, his hand shifting on your waist, the other clasping your trembling hand firmly.

“He’s married,” you say flatly. He simply cocks a brow at you, and you nearly marvel at how easy it is to fall back into this. 

“I know.” 

“He’s a friend!” 

“Must be, if you’ve already discussed me with him.” His tone is sly, and your embarrassment makes a swift comeback. 

“Who says I was talking about you?” you say retort, twirling into a spin, only for your voice to die in your throat as it ends with his face close, the tip of your nose brushing his. 

His eyes, previously clear and twinkling, are somehow brighter with something dangerous lurking in their depths.

“He was right, you know,” Chrollo murmurs, his breath mingling with yours. “Your eyes really do give you away.” 

Your heart pounds as you’re spun around, your back pressed into his front, still swaying almost unconsciously. Your body moves with every subtle shift of his, his fingers undulating along your sides almost covetously. Once more, you can only marvel at your overactive imagination as it offers up flashes of your previous encounters involving the infamous spider, and the things you _could_ do if you could just find a quiet place.

“You never said what brought you here,” you say, swallowing heavily when you feel his warm breath on the nape of your neck. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He turns you back around, and there’s a subtle smile curling along his mouth. “Unless you do think I’m an idiot.” 

Flustered, you look away, but he tugs at your waist until there’s less than an inch between you.

“I have to wonder, though,” he muses, his hand sliding down to rest on the swell of your ass while the other slithers up your back. Your hands brace against his chest lightly. “If you weren’t actually expecting me–who, then, did you doll up for?” 

At this, you sniff delicately, finding your balance and refraining from rolling your eyes. “Do I need to dress up for someone? It’s NYE.” Granted, you _had_ been hoping he would show up, but there is no way in hell you would ever admit that. 

“And here I thought this was all for me,” he sighs, and his tone would have actually led you to believe he was hurt–if not for the way he squeezes your plump rear, and the fact that you do, to a certain extent, _know_ him. 

And so you hesitate, going over words you could and _shouldn’t_ say. 

“That was a little presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?” you tease lightly, glancing up at him before averting your eyes quickly. 

“No, I wouldn’t,” he counters, his smile sharp and knavish. His lips brush your cheek, his next words breathed into your skin. “After all, you’re well aware of how much I love you in satin.” 

Yes, you do.

Your mind, the traitorous thing that it is, stumbles over the ‘I love you’ despite the accompanying words. Even so, you duck your head, aware of how easily he can still read you. 

“I just liked the dress,” you grumble, annoyed by his breathy laugh at your pout. 

“I like it too. Then-“ He’s closer now, his mouth at your ear, your breasts pressing into his chest. “I guess you really liked the _gift_ I sent you too?” 

For a second, you’re unable to comprehend his words. Your mind tries to work through the events of the evening– _when, when, when?_

Chrollo, who has by now pulled back to be entertained by your reaction, spots the panic in your eyes at once. “Ah, don’t worry, you didn’t accidentally flash anyone.”

His words are reassuring, and yet there’s a hidden implication in them. “Did you...was it here?” you ask slowly. 

At your question, his gentle smile shifts into something more cunning. “No.” 

You stare at him in mortification. 

“I didn’t actually mean to peek,” he clarifies, making you feel a bit better–and then he continues. “You should’ve drawn the curtains.” You live on the fifteenth floor. “And you looked so sad as you were looking at my gift, I just-“ 

Unable to bring yourself to continue listening, you step away hastily, your fists clenched at his teasing tone. Without waiting for another word, you turn on your heel and exit through the first door you come across. 

The fact of the matter is–you _had_ been sad. You had sat there with that box in your hands for over an hour. Because you missed him. You ached for him, after months of radio silence. You had thought that was it, that it was done because he’d never gone so long without making even a brief appearance to turn your life upside down. 

Because, despite everything–him being who he is, never saying goodbye, just leaving behind cold sheets and a fading scent–he’s carved himself a place in your heart so deeply you’re unsure if you will ever be able to evict him. You’ve certainly tried. 

You’ve stalked your way out of the room to what looks like the poolside; this side of the building is just as grand as the ballroom, with its carefully carved pillars and the shallow pools of water you catch glimpses of through archways, that seem to cover the entirety of one side of the room. 

You don’t feel his presence behind you but you duck behind a wall anyway, coming to face the still water. Your face is still uncomfortably warm, your eyes burning–with tears, with anger, and with the aching vulnerability of being seen through so easily yet again. You’ve experienced his sharp perceptiveness first-hand, but this is the firm time he’s referred to your feelings for him so openly, if indirectly. 

You sense him nearby, shifting to look around the safety of the wall when you feel his hand catching yours from behind you; his arms slide around your waist before you can whirl around, pulling you back into his chest. It leaves you facing the gilded walls instead, the slight chill in the air cut off by the warmth emanating from him. 

It's when you feel his lips on your neck that the fight leaves you, the brief contact frustratingly soothing. "Did I go too far?" 

"Yes."

You feel his mouth curve up, pressed as it is into your skin. "Which part?"

The words bubble at the back of your throat, but you swallow them stubbornly. His thumb rubs small circles over the skin under your breast, sparking every nerve to attention, if he moves his hand just a little–

“It couldn’t have been me watching you dress,” he says casually, sliding his mouth further up and sideways until he’s kissing the tender skin underneath your ear. “That’s something you enjoy, if I recall correctly...” 

Your lips part slightly as he nips at your skin playfully. 

“Chrollo, someone might see us,” you whisper, knowing full well he doesn’t care–and neither do you, not really. He just laughs at your attempt at stilling his wandering hands and mouth.

“No one’s going to be around to see us,” he assures you, teeth grazing the delicate shell of your ear. 

“Ah, but-“ 

“Don’t try to change the subject, ___.” His words are accompanied by a chiding tug at your earlobe. His hand splays at your hip, his mouth returning to peppering soft kisses along the slender slope of your neck.

Your hand settles on top of his, fingers lacing together as your eyes blink shut. His nose burrows briefly into the junction between your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. 

“I’ve missed you too, you know,” he purrs, the words coiling around your heart, squeezing it tight. “But it appears I’ve neglected you.” 

“Wh-what?” 

“No? Isn’t that why you tried to fuck that hunter after your last job?” 

Once more, the words are said so nonchalantly that you almost don’t realise what he’s said until you try to turn around and he pins you against the wall instead, using his body to keep you in place as he goes back to mouthing at your skin. 

“How do you-“ _know?_ How the fuck does he know? Your mind spins, your instincts tingling despite his casual tone. 

“It didn’t quite work out, though, did it?” he asks almost sympathetically. “He said you didn’t actually seem that into it. I’m curious–what exactly were you trying to accomplish?” 

“Chrollo,” you ask quietly, trying to keep your voice steady despite your heart thumping its panic throughout your body. “What did you do?” 

“Don’t sound so suspicious, sweetheart.” His hips press into the curve of your ass, and a desperate sort of thrill thrums through you when you feel his bulge against you. “We just had a little chat.” 

He doesn’t say more, his silence expectant now. He’s looking for an answer, you realise, heart sinking at the thought of even hinting at the emotional turmoil you went through when you’d thought he was done with you–after you had told him to never seek you out again, and he had left without protest.

“I thought we were done,” you say in a rush. “That’s why.” 

“Hm.” 

He was gone for months without a word. He’s never said anything to imply that he expects something from you, coming and going as he pleases. This time, you refused to wait for him. You wanted to move on. 

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you say carefully. This could go a number of ways, and you nearly wince imagining the bruising your heart could take from his reply. “Especially after...what I said.” 

His chin falls to rest on your shoulder.

“I understand,” he says. He sounds like it too.

“You...do?“ 

“Of course. I know I’ve been remiss in informing you of certain things. I won’t lie to you–when I found out your eyes have been straying elsewhere, it did hurt.”   
His words throw you for a loop, and this is not what you’d thought he’d say. 

“I’m...sorry?” you say hesitantly, turning your head so you could see his expression, to see if he was messing around again. You don’t expect the quiet intensity in his eyes, belying his nonchalant tone entirely. 

“Me too,” he smiles, and it’s not his pretty one. He kisses your cheek softly, keeping his lips pressing into your skin. “But this _is_ one thing you should know about me–I don’t share.” 

You know you’re not at fault, but you feel a kernel of guilt in sprout to life, one you're determined to ignore. 

“I didn’t realise I was yours to share," you say coolly. Or not share, in this case. You say it with the aim of ruffling that cool composure, to find some of the same in yourself. 

He kisses the corner of your mouth tenderly. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. By the time we’re done,” his whispers against your lips, smiling slightly as your eyelashes brush the tops of your cheek. "You'll know exactly who you belong to." His mouth is on yours before you can even open your eyes, working your lips open, stealing your words and your breath in one go. You can't help the soft noise in your throat when his hand comes up to wrap around your neck, squeezing lightly as you nearly melt back into him. 

Every thought of resistance leaves you the moment he licks into your mouth. You suck at his tongue languidly, feeling drunk off the taste of him, your senses filled with his scent. 

It's when his hand sneaks beneath the hem of your dress, caressing the warm flesh of your inner thigh, that raw desire sparks like liquid fire through your veins–it's helped along by his other hand sliding down your chest from the base of your throat to cup the bare flesh of your breast. He breaks the kiss to raise a brow at you, his smooth expression flickering at the sight of the nigh pained look that comes over your face when he tugs roughly at a taut nipple. 

"So you did skip it. Pity, I would've liked to see the full set," Chrollo mumbles almost to himself. "You'll have to show me later." His tongue sweeps into your mouth swiftly, his mouth swallowing your soft moan when you feel him cup your mound. You're grinding into his palm before you even realize it, your body aching to feel him within you after the long absence. A low whine escapes you when he pulls away to turn you around, pushing you back into the wall and sliding the pad of his finger along your clothed entrance. 

Your hands splay across his tensing abdomen, his body belying his tranquil expression as your lips find his pulse point, licking tight swirls over it. You widen your stance, silently begging him to move his fingers, but he seems content to brush them over the damp lace indolently. 

Deciding to take the matter into your hands, you reach for the waistband of his pants, ready to sink to your knees and suck until he gives you what you want. However, your plan is halted before you can even implement it, with Chrollo once again pinning you in place with his body, his hands coming to rest on the wall on either side of your head; his leg slides between your knees, his firm thigh pressing into your dripping heat, applying the delicious sort of pressure you've been dreaming of for weeks. You grind down on it, and he lets you–only for a moment, before a hand to your hip puts a stop to it. 

In the silence, the sound of your heavy breathing is loud. You're dizzy with lust and confusion until you see the insidious smirk tugging at his mouth. Your uncomfortable squirming is also cut off, and you think you might just explode. 

"Chrollo," you plead, desperate to move. You can only imagine how pitiful you look, with the beseeching look in your tearful eyes, and your hands tug at the lapel of his jacket. "Please, please, d-don't..."

"Don't?" he prompts when you trail off, his thigh rubbing into you, birthing relief that withers when he stops right away. You whimper softly, leaning into his touch when his hand cups your cheek. 

"D-don't tease me." Your helpless desire is apparent in your tone, and you spot the satisfied glint in his eyes when he leans in to steal another kiss. 

"Oh, don't make such a cute face, sweetheart," he half-groans, pressing his forehead to yours. "It makes me want to _ruin_ you." He emphasizes his words with a slow slide of his thigh, before stepping away. Every protest dies in your throat when he sinks to his knees before you, calloused palms spreading your legs further as he nearly buries his face in the apex of your thighs. You strain to catch a glimpse of him, your breath robbed from you when you hear him inhale strongly as if enjoying a favourite perfume. He mouths at you through the barrier of your underwear, the heat of his mouth discernible even through it. 

"Fuck, Chrollo," you moan, bucking your hips into his mouth, yelping when he nips at you in reprimand. 

His deft fingers reach behind you, unclasping the panties and sliding them off. You're not at all surprised when he stuffs them into his back pocket, but you’re stunned when he spreads your cunt and drags his tongue along your swollen lips. Your knees start to tremble with every lick, and you're unsure as to how you remain standing when he lifts one of your legs to curl it over his shoulder, his tongue delving deeper through your dripping walls. This time, he doesn't stop you from grinding down; his hands, tight bands on your hips, digging into your skin as they help you undulate over his tongue. 

You try to muffle your moans as best you can, desire and fear coiling together low in your belly–you've known him long enough to be somewhat familiar with his style, and you know how much he enjoys robbing you of that absolute bliss until _he's_ ready to give it to you. And so you roll your hips frantically, angling them just right, hoping you can grab your orgasm before he's done savouring the taste of you. The thought sends a hot jolt through you, drawing your attention to the way he's lapping at your sex with more fervour than you'd thought him capable of. 

Perhaps Chrollo really had missed you.

His tongue drags over your clit and you're so, so close and he knows–he knows, and so he pulls away, leaving you twitching but not daring to tug at his hair insistently, the way you want to. Your dismayed expression seems to provide some measure of amusement–but you’re not fooled even in your disoriented state, noting his blown-out pupils as he licks his lips. There’s a ghost of a smile across them when he rises to his feet to pull you into a kiss, the taste of you on his tongue making your head spin.

"You're a cruel bastard," you breathe. He blinks in slight confusion. Months without him, and he won't even let you come.

"Sorry, what was that?" he asks, tilting his head as if trying to hear better. "You don't want me to fuck you?"

"I want! I want- _you_."

"Me?" he asks, still feigning obliviousness. “I’m right here.” 

You tug at his tie pitifully. 

"Your hands," you moan softly, nuzzling his jaw cajolingly. "Your mouth. Your cock." He looks thoughtful for a moment, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You wait with bated breath, knowing how much he likes to hear you plead. 

"But sweetheart–do you _deserve_ my cock?"

The words have the same impact as being doused bucket of chilled water. No, you won't get to come right now. 

"I..." His eyes warn you to think carefully. "...No?"

"No? Why is that?"

Your face burns as you look away, unable to believe you have to face these consequences even though you’ve done nothing wrong. Technically, you're a free agent. Chrollo never said a word to imply otherwise, and so you decided to test the waters, just once. To try to escape the web that was Chrollo Lucilfer, to see if you could, because it's not as if he would ever find out. 

You were wrong, and it's come back to bite you in the ass. 

"Because I...tried to...with someone." 

There's absolute silence after you finish your sentence, and you have to wonder if he'll walk away after obtaining that admission. 

"Yes," he begins, a knuckle under your chin tilting your head up. You're struck dumb by the lethal look in his eye as he stares at you. "You were going to let him fuck you." 

"...Yes."

"But you didn't." It's not a question–not the one you know he's about to ask. 

"No, I didn't," you admit, your eyes squeezed shut as something in your chest quivers at the prospect of what's coming.

"Why?"

You don't know what to say. Or rather, you don't know how to tell him why you had run out of that hotel room that night, flashes of him filling your head until you couldn't even look at the other man without cringing. 

"Don't make me repeat myself," he warns, his tone affecting a measure of sternness that contrasts greatly with his previous geniality. 

"I couldn't-" Your eyes still closed in resignation. "Because he wasn't you."

Because despite every effort you’ve put into trying to escape him, he always finds you. And you fall into his arms like the complete fool you that you are, unable to resist him. You _crave_ him when he’s not around. 

Worse still, it’s not just the sex. It hasn’t been for a long time. Not since you first saw him reading by the window, lost in his book, his ridiculous coat gone and his hair falling in messy waves around his face. It had hit you with the force of an enhancer’s punch, filling your heart up and spilling over, and you haven’t been the same ever since. 

“Was that so hard?” he nearly croons, kissing your forehead as if he hadn’t just cornered you into a difficult position. “Look at me, ___.” A peek at his face has your breath catching in your throat at how pleased he looks. It’s in how his smile actually reaches his eyes, for once. The dark delight glittering in them, combined with his straining bulge pressing into your hip threatens to derail your thought process all over again. “You couldn’t fuck him, because he wasn’t me. You understand, don’t you?”

In this, you know you understand more than he probably does. “Yes.”

“Good girl. Let’s go.” 

_‘Wait-what?’_

“Where?” you ask in confusion, stumbling after him as he interlocks your fingers together and pulls you along. Your hotel room is always an option, but that idea is discarded when he tugs you through a hallway you don’t recognize. It doesn’t look like he’s leading you to the exit–you seem to be going deeper into the grand building. “Where are we going?” 

“As tempting as it is, I’d rather not fuck you where somebody would eventually find us,” Chrollo explains, smiling over his shoulder at your baffled expression, his hand squeezing yours. 

In other words, he wants to take his sweet time with you. Lovely thought, but it still doesn’t explain where you’re going. 

“And so...”

“And so I’ve made other arrangements for us. I think you’ll like it.” 

You almost hiss at him to lower his voice, which echoes off the marble floor in the empty hall. But there doesn’t seem to be anyone to hear him, which strikes you as odd–this is a royal figure’s birthday party. There should definitely be more security. 

That’s something Chrollo is clearly not worried about, and you decide you don’t want to know. 

He finally comes to a stop in front of a heavy door of white wood, carved with roses painted a shimmering gold. He pushes it open with no preamble, pulling you in behind him and shutting the door, the click of the lock loud in the large room. Your eyes have nearly adjusted to the dark of the room when he turns the lights on; the lights being crystal candelabras hanging on the walls, which are curved to form a circular room instead of the usual square. 

It’s stunning, from the white wooden dresser to the full-length ornate mirror framed with carved gold roses, but your eyes are drawn back to the main attraction: the king-sized bed with its pretty blue velvet headboard and its pretty blue velvet bedcovers that are thick enough to be called blankets. There are heavy drapes on either side of the bed, and several pillows lining the top of it. 

You’re immediately overcome by the urge to throw yourself on the mattress.

“Chrollo,” you begin, your mouth feeling like cotton. “How did you manage this?” 

He smiles indulgently, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around you, surveying the room with an almost critical eye. “It’s a bit brighter than I would prefer, but...”

But this is exactly the kind of room you would like. And so the fly walks back into the parlour. 

“It’s stunning,” you exclaim, nearly overwhelmed by the delicate beauty surrounding you. “But we’re not supposed to be here, are we?” 

“Depends on who you ask.” He shrugs, toying with the straps of your dress. “And if you ask me–I think I want to fuck you on that bed.” 

A shiver runs down your spine as he tugs the thin straps down, one at a time, pressing his lips to your shoulders. 

“There’s a lovely bath too, but we’ll explore that later,” he continues, pulling at your zipper slowly until it reveals the bare skin of your back, inch by inch. “Do you like it?“ 

“I love it,” you gasp, feeling the cool air on your heated skin as he pulls your dress down until it’s pooled at your feet. You stand, completely exposed to his gaze, embarrassed warmth blooming all over your body. And then his hand is at the small of your back, urging you towards the bed. 

“Ah, forgive me,” he slides his jacket off smoothly, draping it around your shoulders. “I’ll get the fire started. Why don’t you take a seat?”

You do as you’re bid with a pounding heart, watching him stride over to the–you guessed it–marble fireplace. Chrollo’s always been charming, but you’re not sure what to make of this. It’s romantic beyond belief, and something you had never expected from him in a million years. 

You sit on the side of the bed, sniffing discretely at his jacket, stifling a low gasp at his intoxicating scent. As he walks over to stand before you, between your spread thighs, you can’t help but smile as you tilt your head back to look at him and he kisses you deeply. Deft hands slide the jacket off your shoulders, throwing it over the back of an armchair, before reaching for your hair. 

He doesn’t rush; he’s slow, yet gentle as he tugs at the pins keeping your low bun in place, sliding them out carefully until there’s a small pile of them on the bedside table and your hair is spilling over your back. Skilful fingers rub at your scalp, chasing the slight ache away, and you’re nearly overwhelmed by the intimacy of the act. 

He crouches down, reaching for your feet, unbuckling the straps on your heels and sliding them off, taking a moment to rub the soles of your feet. You’re convinced you’re in a dream, or that you’ve died. This is not good for your heart.

“Did I mention you look beautiful?” he half-jokes, looking at you through half-lidded eyes as you reach for the cloth around his forehead, tugging it loose to reveal his tattoo. 

“I think so,” you say casually, but your trembling fingers give you away as you loosen his tie next. “But I won’t stop you if you want to tell me again.” 

He laughs as he stands, the sound coming out huskier than he probably intended as you reach up to unbutton his shirt, trying to keep from rushing; you struggle a little with the buttons on his wrists, but he’s patient as you finally slip it off his arms. You lean in when the pale expanse of his torso is unveiled, pressing your lips to every inch of skin you can reach–soft, open-mouthed kisses that have him stroking your hair in approval. 

You _know_ you don’t imagine the slight hitch in his breath when you reach for the fly of his pants, unzipping him carefully and nuzzling at his straining length through his silk briefs. Your eager mouth traces his bulge until he tugs at your hair lightly, and then you reach for the waistband of his underwear. You don’t look away from his freed cock, your mouth watering at the slight glistening visible at its head. You wait impatiently as he folds his clothes and leaves them on the armchair, knowing his slow movements are in part due to how badly you want to taste him. 

Which is why you take immense pleasure in the way his light chuckle gets cut off when you take the tip of his cock into your mouth, sucking softly, tasting him with your eager tongue. Your moan vibrates around him. It’s not because he tastes good–it’s because it’s so purely _him._ It sends thrilling flutters through you, and you’re glad you’ve left the shame behind. 

You’re well aware of what it does to Chrollo when he sees the pure bliss on your face as you suck his cock. 

Sure enough, his hand tangles in your hair, flexing and tugging to keep his calm. You appreciate that about him; Chrollo rarely loses his composure. But there are moments, where he just unravels and moans and squirms and you keep those close to your heart, cherishing them deeply. You want to collect more of those tonight. 

Chrollo stops you just as you feel him twitch in your mouth, feeling the telltale tensing of the muscles in his thighs where you caress them lovingly. His grip on your hair tightens until you've let him slip out of your mouth, shifting to lay on your back as he climbs over you, between your legs, ebony strands framing his face haphazardly. You part your legs further in a silent, pleading invitation and his lips twitch as he ducks his head to run his tongue over your nipples instead. His hair tickles your skin as he lavishes your breasts with his attention, any attempts at pulling him closer thwarted by his hands pinning your wrists to the bed.

His hot mouth leaves blushing speckles across your chest, and even as you squirm, you wait. He slides his fingers into you first, and your eyes flutter shut at the nimble fingers moving along your walls, curling and rubbing where it makes you writhe. You whimper in protest when he pulls them out just as your walls start fluttering around them, knowing he won’t make you wait too long. 

Or he might, so the moment he loosens his hold on you, you act–a quick twist of your hips leaves you straddling his hips, leaving trails of ardent kisses across his abdomen, over taut muscles and old scars. His eyes are bright when you straighten to take his cock in your hand, not hesitating even for a second as you lift your hips to bring it to your entrance, sinking down on it with a shuddering breath and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, his fingers digging into your hips as watches your cunt engulf his stiff length, squeezing him tight as if in greeting. “Look at you, always taking my cock so well.“ 

“God, I’ve missed you,” you moan, struggling to stay upright at the feeling of fullness. “You feel so _good_.” You know he's watching, taking in every single movement–the slow grind of your hips, the swaying of your breasts, willing to let you fuck yourself on his cock to your heart's desire. 

You falter when he begins to thrust up, meeting every roll of your hips with his own, a smile still teasing across his lips as your motions become swifter, your eyes losing focus as you stumble towards that sweet, sweet unravelling. You won't let him snatch it away from you, not again, and you know he will if he sees you waver even a little. 

"Look at me." 

You do, locking eyes with his, the molten grey of his eyes shaking your unsteady heart further. "I-I'm so c-close-"

"Would you like a little help?" He waits for your frantic nod before revving up his thrusts, reaching almost casually for your swollen nub as you bounce wildly on his cock, rubbing it dexterously and propelling you over the edge. It makes you keen, your head thrown back, your walls palpitating–then his arms are around you, your face pressed into the side of his neck as you quiver minutely. 

You come down from the high with soft, dirty whispers in your ear, your breasts pressing into the firm planes of his chest and–you realize with a jolt–his length still hot and hard in you. 

"There we go," he murmurs approvingly as you pull away to look at him. He still looks infuriatingly unruffled, but the evidence of his ardour is straining within you and his fingers still dig into your skin sporadically. It flickers in his eyes, behind his mask of cool composure, almost admiring as he takes in your wrecked state. And so, you wait. "You okay?"

"Mhm." You kiss the palm of his hand as it moves to cup your jaw, earning you an appreciative smile. 

"That was beautiful. Now-" He shifts you off his lap, pulling out without any warning, making you hiss at the sensitivity. “On your hands and knees, sweetheart,” he commands roughly, his palm coming down on your ass in a firm snack, and you scramble to follow it, crawling to the middle of the bed where you wait for him on trembling limbs. You don't have to wait long.

He’s too selfish to deny himself your inviting heat, and you’re proven correct when you feel his swollen head pressing into your slit, pushing through with no resistance. He grinds into you languidly, the palm of a hand sliding down to take a handful of your ass in it, an approving grunt leaving him as you push your hips back into him, moving them in slow, tight circles. 

It’s when you start to whimper his name that he finally pulls out halfway, snapping his hips into yours in a powerful thrust, repeating the motion over and over again until your back arches and you’re half-babbling, half-screaming, nearly incoherent. The sound of his skin slapping against yours is loud, obscene and only adds to your slow descent into madness. It hurts, but you would die before you let him stop.

Then, Chrollo is leaning over you, one arm braced against the bed while the other dances along the length of your spine to curl around your body, his hand catching a swaying breast immediately. He doesn’t stop drilling into you even for a moment, even when your walls clamp down around him the moment you feel his teeth sink into your shoulder. 

“I want you to come around my cock, ___. Will you do that for me?” he rasps against your skin.

“Chro- _fuck,_ ” you wail, the scream of his name cut off when his hand wanders down to your sex, his fingers trapping your clit between them. Your climax renders you speechless this time, your eyes glazing over as it crashes against you. His mouth is at your ear, his voice seeming like it’s come from across the room. 

“Such a good girl,” he groans, his thrusts nearly faltering as he feels your heat fluttering madly–but they resume instantly, fucking your through your daze, quickening as he chases his own end. It finds him swiftly, encouraged by your pained moans at how sensitive your sex is. What startles you are his harsh whispers against your skin as his length finally twitches, pulsing within you. “You're so good for me, sweetheart–I’m not giving you up, _never_ -“ 

You squeeze him hard and he curses as your cunt milks every single drop from his slowly softening cock, his fervent words–even if they were said in the throes of passion–sending tendrils of warmth through your chest. 

You struggle to catch your breath as he buries his head in your hair, not pulling out just yet. You’re both then startled when your arms give out, leaving your face buried in the velvet bedspread–and you feel him slip out with a laugh, allowing you to turn until you’re laying on your side, facing him. He runs a hand through his hair, his flushed cheeks belying his level expression. It brings you a secret delight when you see that it extends all the way down to his chest, easily noticeable on his pale skin. You don’t consider it a good fuck unless it leaves Chrollo with rosy cheeks.

You know he’s not big on cuddling, choosing to lay on his side facing you. There is still something deeply intimate about the way he watches you reach your calm, your hair no doubt a mess and your face glowing, unattractively reddened. Chrollo reaches over to sweep your hair away from your face, and you do the same, brushing his damp bangs away from his eyes. 

And then he’s kissing you again, languidly, deeply, as if he’s savouring it. You can’t help but smile into it, your heart feeling full when you feel him mirror it, a soft, contented noise leaving him.

A part of you thinks it’s all for show. The bigger part of you doesn’t care, because it feels so fucking good. Because he’s running his fingers over your skin, pressing kisses lazily. Try as you might, you can't quite keep your eyes open. 

“I’ll go get us some food. Why don’t you take a nap?” he suggests, already moving to follow through. 

"Ah, wait-" you protest, reaching for him, but the words die in your throat. You don't want it to end, not now, but you don't know how to say that–knowing he's probably got bigger, nefarious things to do. Your struggle is futile, because Chrollo reads you easily, shifting you on the bed to pull the bedspread back and over you. "I-you-"

"We've got plenty of time, don't worry," he assures you. "But you'll need some food before we can go play in the bath." 

His sly smile tells you exactly what he means by that. What _you_ interpret from that is that he's not leaving right away. The relief must be clear on your face because he leans in, tilting his head curiously.

"Did you think were done?" He laughs when you look away in embarrassment, trying to duck under the covers. He hugs you through them, tucking your head under his chin. “Already?”

“I didn’t say anything!” Your voice is muffled but he still chuckles at the hint of annoyance in it.

"Oh, no, sweetheart," he coos, lifting the soft cover of your shield and pressing his lips to your temple. "You still have so much more to learn. And I never make the same mistake twice."


End file.
